Saturday, May 24, 2014

Letter from a former tutor of Rahul Gandhi

Dear Editor,

Firstly, I am writing this letter with a very heavy
heart and anonymously.Now you would ask why anonymously? Answer to that
question is that I still teach and I have to feed my family, if the word gets
out that I used to teach him, I hardly think anyone would send their ward to my
tutorship.I taught him over a period of 5 years, from 7th
grade to 12th grade. Due to security reasons, I had to teach him
alone. I still remember teams of SPG commandos outside my gate. Those head
gears and black fatigues, a far cry from the today’s safari suit wearing body
guards.So, why am I writing a letter? I have been asking
myself the same question since the polls results. A part of me was happy that BJP finally won,
but inside a part of me was sad that the party run by my former student had
been reduced to 44 seats from the 100 odd something they had won in last
election.He was a quiet boy. Came on time, always brought his
books and notebook, never threw any tantrums around the house and likewise.It used to be a scene around my home when he used to
come. My wife would wake up early and get rid of every speck of dust in every
nook and corner.Everyone was supposed to be quiet and disappear. But
as the days passed my wife finally realized all he notices was the sock full of
marbles hanging from the hook under the table. So, the daily rigormole of clean
up stopped. I used to teach him for 2 hours and 15 minutes. After an hour we
used to take a break. And my son and he used to play hide n seek, marbles and
other games. He gelled on very well and I could sense that those 15 minutes of break
was all he loved about coming to my house. Those 15 minutes of unpretentious friendship
and play made his day .You could easily see that he was worn out by the daily
dose of sermons to him as if he is destined to rule the world. All that was
discussed at the dinner table at his home was politics. Hardly any day would
pass without the bickering and back bitching .It was a poisonous environment to
grow in. His sister was very smart and doting even then, but somehow as
the years grew he felt disconnected with her too. Simply because unlike him, as
he was insulated to all the power politics bullshit, she had finally blossomed into
a future politician, participating in school debate clubs, running and rigging
student body elections, all these came naturally to her. She learned all that
at the knee of the shrewdest politician India has ever known; Indira.I see that that arrangement has not changed even now.
Priyanka’s statements are more direct and combative where as our Rahul Baba's cannot even make it to the head line. It pains me when I see jokes about him
circulating around on Facebook and twitter. Why doesn’t the world understand,
he didn’t want all this. He was thrust into this. One day, when I was done
expecting some sign of super genius from him. I asked him a simple question. What
do you want to be in your life? What he replied astounded me, and I told him
never to tell this answer to anyone, not even himself.What he wanted to become? In this answer is hidden the
reason for everything he does. Do you think he enjoys all this, party politics,
rallies, back lobbying, caste calculations; NO. He is a good person born in a wrong
family, in the wrong order, with wrong sex and in the wrong country. The only thing that excited him was the summer vacation which he used to spend with his
maternal grandparents. He used to feel loved there not because of his surname
or the mantle he has to bear in future. They used to dote on him, loved all his
eccentricities which were forbidden in the palace he lived back home. There
were no servants to keep a watch, no SPG commandos nothing, he could run if he
wanted to, laugh, jump whatever he wanted to do and nobody will raise a finger.
Contrary to the common perception, his maternal family is very traditional, who
still bake their pizza in a brick oven. He used to describe in detail to my son
how the pizza is baked, he seemed to be in awe of the process and often at his
own request his granny used to allow him to deliver pizza around the locality. This
was the thing he loved the most, to deliver pizzas. The joy he felt at this job
was incredible. He still has that dress that her grandma had given him as a
delivery boy. Often after 16 hours of politics, he takes a look at that small
red pants and fray collared shirt, it
calms him and he can go to sleep after wards. Dreaming about Italy, its narrow
alleys and the smell of the pizzeria.He was forcibly sent to the most prestigious colleges in
and around India, without even asking. He could never make friends; he always
used to get surrounded by sycophants and leechers. He hated to read about his
family again and again. He stopped reading newspapers, news channels, everything.
He left St Stephan’s half way, because he could no longer take the hidden barbs
from both the leftists and rightist in the faculty, but what media portrays is
that he flunked. It’s not that difficult to survive in an Indian college, with his
connections and all. But he had enough of that. Next, he called me up once
saying that he was leaving India, before leaving I invited him for dinner. He thoroughly
enjoyed and stayed back for the night. Many eminent persons had written letters
of recommendation for him; hence he had been accepted at one of Ivy League
institutions. But, I could see that more than the college, he was happy for
leaving India, the very nation his family had built. Ironic it may seem, but it’s
the truth.Whenever I see him on TV giving massive speeches, I
can straight away decipher the mask he has put on for his family which he
resents, a party he hates.I cannot write any long, I cannot see, my keyboard is
wet with tears, may be next time I can finish this piece. I have much more to
say about the bespectacled boy who used to play hide n seek around my house,
and I will write it.